t the Calgary Folk Fest, the observer/participant becomes half-starved and half-filled up. Split almost right down the middle. The starved half must move and interpret new territories, areas and stages. The filled-up half seems more satisfied with the stable condition, the sedentary condition, the lawn chairs.

This is the mind-topic of the Fest, emerging before the observer even departs from the hotel. A concrete bust of a dude’s head confronts him in the lobby of the Hotel Arts. Art and abstraction versus sedentary and concrete--a polar opposition from the start. The Folk Fest being a mechanism for harmonizing the two, of course.

Concrete bust at Hotel Arts

Down the street, the festival awaits. One can arrive by either by land or water, from the streets or the river, as a pedestrian or on a raft. Once inside Prince’s Island Park, the traveler can either set up shop at one gig or migrate, like a nomad, from stage to stage, as aimlessly as he desires. The choices oscillate between static gigs on a timed schedule and collaborative improvised workshops where any number of performers may come together and create something more than the sum of the parts.

Wandering in the general direction of the Fest through downtown Calgary--a pseudo-Cartesian grid of streets with numerical names--becomes utterly hysterical. Every “street” is a number, not to be confused with every “avenue,” which is also a number. For example, Hotel Arts sits just to one side of 1st Street SW, close to where 12 Ave SE begins, as opposed to 12 Ave SW, which begins on the other side of Centre St. South. On the other side of the tracks, the Calgary Tower sits at the intersection of Center St SW and 9 Ave SW, which becomes 9 Ave SE. Occasionally, a street will cross an avenue with the same number, adding to the insanity. One can travel for a block, turn right, and then turn left, with all three of the streets being named “southwest.”

For a more fluid, non-grid-like feel, the Bow River flows eastward through the city and around Prince’s Island Park. An integral defining component of the landscape, the river means everything to Calgarians, their history, their identity and their culture. It is one of the great rivers of Canada.

Floating towards the Folk Fest

As one approaches the Fest from the river--an activity easy to arrange--the skyline comes into view ever so gradually. The Bow River becomes a smooth, graceful happening, a natural antithesis to the linear grid-layout of downtown Calgary.

The skyline of downtown Calgary when approaching from the Bow River.

At the Fest, the nomad must move. Always. He can’t sit still, unlike the thousands that set up their lounge chairs, blankets and tarps for the weekend.

Folk Fest fanatics getting ready for the weekend’s events on the main stage.

For the nomad, the workshops become the juiciest component of the festival, allowing for constant motion. He just trips in, around, and, especially, between. There’s always a sonic between-ness about the event, as one roams around the park. One stage fades away as the next one draws near. Bluegrass fades into Quebecois folk music, which fades into Arabic hiphop jazz, which fades into Buffy Sainte-Marie.

Buffy Saint-Marie on stage at the Folk Fest

All the regulars provide the same response regarding the workshops: They are the real deal, the heart of the Fest, where one sees raw improvisation, ad-hoc accompaniments and thrown-together jams, often among artists who wouldn’t normally share the same stage.

The word, ‘workshop,’ though, barely suffices. One act is usually the host, but the collective assemblage of musicians organizes the set amongst themselves, right on the spot, deciding what to play as they go. Sometimes it merely rotates, with each group performing in succession while the others improvise an accompaniment. A songwriter might perform a tune by herself or she might call out the chords or the key signature, just so the others know what’s in store. In other scenarios, the whole affair explodes into a multi-instrumental ensemble jamming for twenty minutes. Whatever happens, happens. No expectations allowed.

Migrating between workshops requires food

Each workshop bears a creative title. “Avant Bards,” for example, elicits attention right off the bat. Elvis Bossa Nova, BRAIDS, Kris Ellestad and Cadence Weapon provide something on stage at the same moment. A female vocalist. A male vocalist. A spacey electronic soundscape, then smoky, folky vocals, then garage exotica ala Martin Denny with percussion, woodwinds and strings. Another workshop, “Tryst ‘n’ Shout,” brings the Punch Brothers to the same stage as Buffy Saint-Marie. She even did the song from those episodes of Sesame Street moons ago. A more ethnically middle-eastern workshop, “Mazel Tov!” features Yemen Blues pitted against accordionist Geoff Berner.

Goeff Berner on stage with Yemen Blues

But the workshop ripest for stalking becomes the one titled, “Vex Us.” The a cappella feminine pastels of Chic Gamine captivate a jam-packed tent. The audience overflows onto the grassy hills outside. Members of David Wax Museum, The Head and the Heart, and the Felice Brothers all take part in the session, trading songs, a few after the other. The mesmerizing Francophone singer, Beatrice Martin, aka Coeur de Pirate, performs ethereal piano-and-vocal numbers. Bonnie Prince Billy later jumps in with the entire group.

At this point, the observer feels like a participant, but cannot sit still. He must migrate to the next stage. No desire to park his caboose in just one place. Movement is key at the Fest. Back at Hotel Arts, the concrete bust awaits.

The concrete bust overlooks the lobby at Hotel Arts

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